


I've a Feeling We're Not in Splott Anymore

by Marzipan77



Category: NCIS, Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s01e04 The Immortals, Episode: s02e01 Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, Flirting, Gen, Kate is not a good profiler, M/M, Mentions Jack/Ianto but harmless, Mostly Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 02:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14534349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marzipan77/pseuds/Marzipan77
Summary: Takes place directly after NCIS episode The Immortals. Ianto and Jack travel to Florida to interview the NCIS team after an alien computer program attacks a Navy seaman. Written for the Dreamwidth "Into A Bar" group. The prompt was: "Ianto Jones goes into a bar and meets Cailtin Todd."





	I've a Feeling We're Not in Splott Anymore

It was hot. Humid. Like a ruddy rain forest. Only without the forest. Or vegetation of any kind, really. Sand. Scrubby grass. Bloody palm trees. Ridiculous. Ianto Jones crossed his arms, expression bland and uncaring. He refused on principle to sweat. Even in this swamp. This loud, smelly, American swamp.

If Ianto never saw Florida again, well, he'd be bloody thrilled. It wasn't just the humid heat. Or the flat, uninteresting landscape. Or the highways that went on forever trolled by little old ladies in large, expensive motor cars driving too slowly and swerving in and out of lanes. On the wrong side of the road. And bugs. Bugs the size of the Torchwood SUV. If Tosh hadn't convinced him before this trip even started that no, this area was not some alien landscape translated through the Rift to dangle off the eastern edge of the States to house a collection of sentient insect life and their elderly caretakers from the edges of the known galaxy, Ianto would have never set foot on the plane.

He straightened, unwilling to lean for another second against the incandescent metal of their rented Range Rover while he waited for Jack. And he certainly wasn't going to sit inside where the hoped-for tickle of a breeze would never reach him. Ianto had left his jacket and tie hung neatly in the back and rolled his white shirtsleeves up to his elbows. He could only imagine how hot that stupid wool coat was making Jack. Ianto rolled his eyes. Of course, when he'd suggested Jack leave the army coat behind the man had smirked, blue eyes wide, and had made some comment about fitting in with all the uniforms around him.

As if modern American Navy men and women would overlook the vintage nature of the coat and embrace Jack as one of their own. Hardly.

Ianto pursed his lips. It did suit him, though. The coat. All attitude that was. Confidence and devil-may-care with a tiny touch of 'who, me?' innocence that didn't quite fit him. And here he came, trotting down the stairs from the office of the Admiral, a wicked grin on his face announcing that he'd gotten what he wanted.

Frowning, Ianto forced himself to take a deep breath. Relax. Yep. He'd seen that grin before. Often. Too often. His stomach knotted. Jack had been away for months, but nothing had changed. Well, why would he think it would? Some daring adventures, an old lover, cluster bombs, a blowfish, a race against time, and one odd request for a date? Ianto shoved his hands into his pockets. Strictly professional. This wasn't a holiday, after all. This was Torchwood.

And if Jack had chosen Ianto to accompany him to the deadly insect-ridden swamps of America it was only because Tosh was needed for the technical details, Owen was dealing with the autopsies, and Gwen had lost her passport.

Timely that. Ianto's eyebrows flicked up and down, his stomach taking another lazy turn. The thought of just whose idea that had been made him ill.

"Bingo." Jack hurried over, his gaze lingering on the backsides of a couple of sailors in their crisp white trousers walking past.

"Careful, sir," Ianto drawled. "I'm fairly sure the Americans aren't quite as open-minded as you and Captain John." He made sure his precise enunciation got his point across.

"Huh." If anything, Jack's grin widened. "Repression makes for some fun sneaking around, believe me. Nothing gets the old adrenaline up like almost getting caught." He waved Ianto back towards the car. 

Ianto hesitated, lingering on the steaming asphalt while Jack threw the door open – on the wrong side, everything in this country was on the wrong side. Jack perched on the side of the driver's seat and turned the key, leaning in to the blast of the air conditioner, his eyes closed. It took him a moment to realize Ianto hadn't run around the car to get in.

"Something wrong?"

"Just waiting for the infernal beast to cool off from surface-of-the-sun temps before I fling myself into its maw."

Jack laughed but his eyes were troubled. "Very dramatic. Come on. The admiral said the Foster got into port early this morning and the NCIS team are still waiting for their ride back to DC. They're not due to take off until 6 AM. That gives us," he consulted his wrist-strap, "fifteen hours to deal with them."

"'Deal with them,'" Ianto echoed. The USS Foster was a Navy Destroyer with a complement of 334 men – well, 333 since the death of Seaman McDonald. Although the investigators on the case only numbered three, not counting their land-based assistants, he doubted Jack had brought enough Retcon for everyone.

"Yes, Ianto, deal with them. As in talk to them. See if any of them suspect anything." Jack lowered his voice as he did when a particularly sharp memory invaded his present. "The Navy is strictly hands-off for Retcon. Torchwood learned its lesson about the effects of Retcon on active military during Vietnam." He shook his head. "The Americans seemed especially susceptible to some of its nastier side-effects."

"What about the other sailor? Zuger?" Ianto changed the subject, jostling Jack from the past as he moved towards the passenger door. "Are we going to be able to examine him?"

"Oh, yes," Jack slammed his door closed and put the car into gear. "Petty Officer Zuger is in the base hospital undergoing a thorough check-up. He's not going anywhere for forty-eight hours. We'll be able to scan him for damage and any lingering alien virus any time. It's the NCIS team I'm worried about." The Range Rover sped down the road toward the Naval Shipyard's gate. "According to the admiral, they've got a profiler on the team. She must have noticed that Zuger and McDonald's obsession with the videogame was over the top. Even by gamers' standards."

Ianto grabbed the files from the backseat, twisting awkwardly, one hand on Jack's seat to keep from falling into the man's lap. He felt the skin across his cheeks flame. Honestly, he reprimanded himself. Strictly professional, remember. And, no, Jack suddenly patting him on the knee didn't make him flinch. It was the stupid potholes.

"Remind me." Jack shot him a smile. A dirty smile. His hand tightened on Ianto's leg. "About the profiler. Kathy? Katie?"

Ianto cleared his throat. "Caitlin. Caitlin Todd. Kate to her friends." He held himself still, not quite sure if it was to make Jack move his hand away or to convince him to keep it right there. "The admiral said she was a profiler? Really?" He paged through the thin file, searching for the information. "Well, she took a six-week course on identifying threats while she was in training for the Secret Service."

"Six weeks?" Jack harrumphed, slowing down for the security checkpoint. He squeezed Ianto's knee before letting go to dig out his ID. UNIT ID. Both Ianto and Jack had been granted enough documents by UNIT to get them into any military installation in the US. The guards saluted and let them pass. "Admiral Peterson implied that the woman was an expert, not some run-of-the-mill agent with barely enough training to be dangerous. What about the other two?"

"The team leader is an ex-Marine Gunnery Sergeant with the unfortunate name of Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Jack snorted. "Yeah, I remember reading that and thinking this guy's parents really didn't want children."

"Apparently he was named after the father's best friend." Ianto read on, the lead agent's dossier lengthy. "He's a sniper. Quick and somewhat deadly. Although, according to UNIT's analysts, he is a bit hidebound, resistant to change. Keeps to himself. In fact, he's been described by his Senior Field Agent as a functional mute. Not the type to chat on and on about the situation. Aaaand, he's been Retconned six times before."

"Wow." Jack swerved around another granny and hit the gas. "Okay. Let's try to avoid doing that again. In fact, we'll try to avoid Leroy entirely. Sounds like a few gunnies I've known. Do the job and get on with the next one was their motto." Jack signaled and headed for a sign noting a slip road coming up on the right. "And the Senior Field Agent? Italian as I recall." He hummed. "Green eyes. Great smile."

"Anthony DiNozzo," Ianto answered, his tone as dry as the air around him was wet. "Not surprised that he's the one you remember." Yes, Anthony was good looking. Very good looking. But it wasn't his looks that Ianto was concerned about. He flicked a glance towards Jack. Not really. "You realize that Anthony – Tony to his friends – is the son of Eleanor Paddington?"

"Paddington? Of the London Paddingtons?" Jack's expression grew dark. "As in Clive Paddington, the liaison between Downing Street and Torchwood One? The one who didn't stop Yvonne Hartman from –"

"I know all about Ms. Hartman, thank you," Ianto cut him off. He didn't want to talk about Torchwood One. About Yvonne Hartman's idiotic tinkering with powers she shouldn't have. Of the Cybermen invasion. Of Lisa. Not again. Jack might think he hated the memory of Yvonne Hartman more than anyone else on the planet. He was wrong. Ianto had been her assistant. He remembered – he remembered everything. Heart beating so loud he figured Jack could hear it, Ianto clenched his teeth to keep from screaming.

"Okay. Right." The car lurched to a stop at a red signal and suddenly the hand was back on Ianto's knee and Jack was looking at him. "So you'll let me handle Agent DiNozzo. We'll see if he recognizes me. If not, well, we'll know he doesn't know anything he shouldn't."

"And I'll talk to Agent Todd and see just what kind of profiler she is."

Jack's smile was kind. "Hey. Don't worry. I doubt if Paddington's American nephew has been read in on Torchwood."

"Even though his team has been dealing with an alien life form masquerading as an on-line video game and luring players into mental breakdowns and violence?" Ianto jerked his chin forward. "Hello? McDonald chained himself to weights and tried to walk across the ocean floor! Who does that? Not to mention that to expect someone with DiNozzo's kind of background to be as blind and ignorant as the rest of his team is a little short-sighted, don't you think?"

"At least Tosh has finally managed to trap the thing and yank it out of the servers it was hiding in. 'The Immortals.' Nice." Jack snorted. "More like wishful thinking. The Prizabyts only thinks it's immortal because it's managed to copy and paste multiples of itself on so many computer systems on so many worlds. Well, it's done here. The two sailors on the Foster are the last of its victims. Of course, Tosh is not happy about taking all the calls from irate players and pretending to be the completely useless foreign Help Desk." 

Ianto put on a thick accent. "Haalo. You tried turning it off and turning on again, yes?" Tosh was going to need a spa day and a hell of a lot of vodka when they got back.

Jack jostled Ianto's leg. "It'll be fine. We'll figure it out."

Ianto met Jack's gaze, warmth stretching his own lips into an answering smile. "Light's green." 

The next few miles were silent. Ianto kept his head straight, focusing on the shops and storefronts through the windscreen. He refused to glance over to see the smirk on Jack's face. Or feel the heat on his own.

 

TW NCIS TW NCIS

Jack pulled into a large hotel's parking lot and parked the Range Rover in shade of the tall building.

"Are we checking in?" Ianto couldn't seem to figure out what to do with his hands. He shuffled the files into a neat pile on his lap, grateful that Jack had kept the engine – and the air conditioner – running.

"Nah, UNIT reserved a couple of visitor's rooms for us back at the base."

Ianto made a face. "They must really want us to take care of this. UNIT is not known for its cooperative tendencies. Not with Torchwood."

"The Prizabyts have been luring military types into their little game for over a year now." Jack flung his hands towards the windscreen. "There've been reports of on-base violence and suicides increasing like crazy all over the UK and now in America. I'd say it's about damned time they notified Torchwood, wouldn't you?"

"Yep." Ianto peered at the hotel building. "So, no cozy rooms with crisp sheets, unlimited hot water, and a minibar for us."

"Huh. If we're lucky we'll have a shared bathroom on base and we won't have to shower with a team of Marines."

Ianto stared at Jack, frowning. "That sounded altogether too disappointed, sir."

Jack's eyebrows danced back at him. "Okay. Assume you're a couple of NCIS agents finished with a weird assignment and stuck near a military base until you can get a ride home. You don't have a car – someone from the base has driven you to your hotel and will pick you up for your flight in the morning. What would you do?"

"Nap? Shower? Access the porn channel? Finish my reports?"

"Riiight," Jack drawled, checking his watch. "You've had hours to do that. What now?"

Ianto let his gaze roam across the steaming asphalt, past the hotel, and found exactly what he was looking for. "There," he pointed.

"Exactly." Jack switched off the engine and opened the car door. Ianto clutched at the seat for another moment, leaning in close to try to absorb the last of the cool air from the fan before he had to walk across the lava-like parking lot to get to the door. He flinched when the sleeve of Jack's great coat smacked him in the face. "Come on, Ianto. I promise they'll have air conditioning."

Grumbling silently, Ianto got out and slammed the door. "We'd do well to finalize work on those portable atmosphere units Tosh has been working on."

Jack jostled him with his shoulder as they headed out. "Those are for underwater reconnaissance, Ianto, not keeping your perfectly starched collar from getting droopy."

As they approached the doors, Ianto stretched his neck and put on his most haughty expression. "I'll have you know that nothing about me is droopy." Before Jack could return the obvious response, he grabbed onto his courage and pointed to the sign beside the doors. "Also, a drink on assignment at the "Never Say Never Bar and Grill" does not count as the date."

"The date?" Jack's face screwed up. "It's October –"

Ianto took a deep breath and turned. He caught Jack's gaze, making sure the other man was listening. "Our date, Jack. The one you promised me as we were searching for your old friend's cluster bombs. Ring a bell?"

The flush across Jack's features was memorable. "Oh. Yes. I mean, no – this isn't our – I wouldn't think that –"

Ianto smiled and touched one hand to Jack's sleeve. "Good."

"Very good. I promise." Jack caught Ianto's fingers as they slipped away. "A real date means not flirting with two NCIS agents to find out what they know."

"I'm so glad you realize that." He really was. Walking into the darkened entryway of the large restaurant/bar, soaking in the cool air and the subdued sounds of people laughing and having a good time with Jack at his side, Ianto was suddenly in a much better mood.

"There." Jack nodded towards the bar. Agent Todd was sitting with her stool shoved off-center, legs crossed, toying with a tall clear icy drink with a stirrer. She was staring at a group of loud men over by the dartboard, laughing and cheering and generally acting like men. Ah, Agent DiNozzo was one of them.

"Perfect." Jack's eyes twinkled even in the dim lighting. "Already separated. They've done half of our work for us."

"Have fun," Ianto murmured as Jack started away. He shook his head at the wink the man threw over his shoulder. "What ever possessed me to say that?" Ianto asked himself. Jack Harkness did not need any encouragement on that front.

Ah, well. Ianto plastered a pleasant expression on his face – not unlike the mask he'd worn in Torchwood that entire first year. He pushed the dreadful memories back into the mental box he'd constructed for the worst moments of his life and sighed. That was over now. The black depression that had latched onto him since Lisa's almost conversion had finally let go, allowing Ianto to acknowledge that his 'pretend flirtation' with Jack Harkness hadn't been a pretense at all. 

He strolled to the bar – one seat removed from Agent Todd – and nodded at the barman.

"Afternoon." His gaze swept the taps, hoping to recognize a familiar brew. Good lord. No. He shook his head. "Gin and tonic. Blue Bottle or Brighton if you have it."

"Sorry. I've got Tanqueray?" The barkeep nodded to the green bottle.

"Good enough." Ianto smiled tightly. And then winced when the man filled his glass with ice. Oh, well. He could almost understand the American love affair with ice in a drink when he thought of the temps outside.

He sipped the drink and glanced towards Jack and the darts match. Agent DiNozzo's opponent was no competition for Jack on a mission. The man gathered up his empty pint glass and reluctantly paid the NCIS agent for his win and hustled back to the bar, shaking his head. When Ianto looked back, Jack was standing too close to the American, toying with the fletched end of a dart in DiNozzo's hand. DiNozzo didn't seem to mind at all.

Ianto snorted.

"Oh, don't mind him. Tony will flirt with anything – male, female, undetermined. He doesn't mean anything by it. He's harmless. Mostly."

Ianto turned. "Mostly harmless. Isn't that a quote from a book attempting to describe the human race from the point of view of alien life?" Great book. Ianto loved it until Jack had told him much of it was true.

Agent Todd tilted her head as if considering the matter. "I'm not really into sci-fi."

Clue number one that the NCIS agent had no idea that the computer program she'd encountered recently was actually an alien virus. "Me, neither," Ianto replied. No, no science fiction for him. It hit much too close to home. "I do enjoy films, though. Not much else to do on a weekend where I live."

"England, right?" Todd's expression was like a cat licking cream – very pleased with herself.

Ianto's smile grew chilly. "How did you guess?"

"Well, the gin," she gestured towards his glass, "the tailoring," she looked him up and down, "and the accent is a dead giveaway."

The woman had no idea that she was insulting Ianto. Born and bred Welsh proud, with the dragon in his blood and the Tinturn Abbey poets in his soul. Not to mention an accent that had made him stick out in London like a sore thumb. So much for profiling.

"I'm sorry, I'm not quite as good with accents as you are. Do you live nearby? Or are you, like so many we've met here, connected to the shipyard?"

"Oh, God, no." Todd shuddered. "I don't think anyone is actually from Florida. People just move here when they retire. Or are in the military."

"Well, you're obviously not retired." Ianto hesitated, wondering if she'd respond better to actual flirting than to his usual sarcasm. It had been awhile since he'd been on the pull. Maybe he should text Owen for some tips. Ianto straightened his shoulders. Just lie back and think of Torchwood, he told himself. "And I can't believe a woman as stylish as you would be caught dead in a uniform."

Good shot. Her smile widened. "You should have seen me in Catholic school."

Ianto's eyebrows shot up. "Catholic school?"

Todd recrossed her legs. "Plaid skirts, white blouses, you know."

"Ah. Public school uniform. The fuel for many a young man's fantasy." He set his drink down, frowning down at the condensation on his hand. A stack of small, square napkins caught his eye and he reached over the bar to grab a handful. "You still haven't said." He glanced back and caught her in a calculating frown. "Military?"

"NCIS," she answered.

"Sorry?" He blinked. "English, remember?"

"Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I'm a special agent. I work with the military, investigating criminal cases, terrorist threats, that kind of thing."

"So, like the FBI then?"

That hit a mark. "I guess there's a similarity. But the FBI works with civilians."

"And you work with the Navy. I see. And are you investigating some criminal activity right now? What is the term? Are you scoping out the place?" He hunched his shoulders and peeked around the room in a bad impression of James Bond.

Good. That made her laugh. "It's 'stake out' and no. We just finished up a case and are headed back to DC. In the morning," she added, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

"Did you get the bad guys?" Ianto ignored her obvious come-on.

"Well, it was a strange case. There weren't actually any bad guys." She glanced down at her own empty glass. "Just a very confused young man."

"Oh. Sorry. Sore subject, then?" Ianto leaned in closer. "Suicide?"

She sighed. "In a manner of speaking. He didn't think he was committing suicide – he was very confused. Disturbed."

"I don't – he didn't think he was committing suicide? How is that possible? Oh, was he drunk, then? High?"

"No." Todd inched away from him. "Just – troubled."

"Sorry. Again." Ianto leaned forward, elbows on the bar. "That's devastating. Especially for the family. But I assume the young man's shipmates are just as upset." He toyed with the too cool glass and watched Jack and DiNozzo in close conversation in the reflection from the mirror behind the bar. "Working so closely together. Never in the military, myself, but –"

"Your friend?" Todd had moved onto the stool next to Ianto. "He seems like the type."

Ianto was glad he hadn't taken a sip. He'd have most likely spewed it across the bar top. "Jack?"

"Jock. Self-confident. Cocky. Thinks he's God's gift to women." Todd snorted. Not very lady-like. "He and Tony should get along great."

"Once upon a time, Jack served." Being in the Time Agency was like military service, Ianto supposed. Very liberated military service, with few rules and fewer inhibitions if Jack and John Hart were any examples.

"And now he, what's the English expression, 'dines out on it'?" She finished the last of her drink, pursing her lips provocatively around the slim straw. "Our Medical Examiner is from your neck of the woods. Bow ties, suspenders, and plaid. Doctor Donald Mallard."

Mallard was a Scottish name. Obviously. Ianto had read the man's file – he'd attended medical school at Edinburgh. Scotland. A different country from England or Wales. Maybe Todd thought they were like states? The completely non-united states of Britain? "I have never worn a bow tie myself, but as you can see, Jack is a fan of braces." Todd's blank expression urged him to explain. "Suspenders." He hurried on. "So, was this your oddest case? Spookiest?"

"Oh, it was odd, I guess. But nothing spooky." Todd nodded towards the barkeep and jiggled the melting ice in her glass by way of asking for another. "Unless you count my partner's irrational obsession with Puerto Rico and topless beaches."

Okay, Ianto was done here. If Agent Todd thought that a grown man's – a straight grown man's interest in topless beaches was stranger than a young sailor chaining himself up with weights and trying to walk across the ocean floor, she had no clue. About much of anything.

Across the room, Agent DiNozzo threw his head back and laughed. He didn't seem drunk; his eyes were alight with something Ianto had seen in Jack's a time or two: mischief. Unconcerned with those who stared, those who frowned or tsked under their breath – like the woman next to Ianto – DiNozzo punched Jack on the arm and laughed again.

"You lying bastard! That can't be true!"

"I'm not kidding!"

Ianto couldn't help smiling. He'd missed that. Missed Jack's mirth, the way he could give himself over to laughter, to something resembling joy. Considering his life – his long life and frequent deaths – it said a lot about the man. About his resilience. His force of will. Determined, Jack was. Determined to carve out happy moments among the darkness.

"God, Tony." Todd grabbed at her new drink and shook her head. "The man has no inhibitions whatsoever. He's like a child, demanding to be the center of attention."

Ianto threw back the rest of his watery gin and tossed a ten on the bar top. "Sounds like a lot of fun, to me." He turned his back and walked away, Todd's incensed 'Hey!' following him across the bar.

"Now who's demanding attention," Ianto murmured to himself.

"Ianto!" Jack grabbed him by the arm and steered him towards the NCIS agent. "Meet Tony. Tony? My buddy, Ianto."

"Yee-anto. Wow." Tony stuck out his hand. "I haven't heard a name like that since the last time I found myself across the pond." The wide, terrible British accent the agent put on was hilarious. Ianto shook his hand, but when he opened his mouth to reply, Jack beat him to it.

"Wait until you get a load of his accent, Tony." Jack shuddered dramatically.

"I don't have an accent. Sir." Ianto pretended offense. "Not like you Americans."

"Welsh vowels!" Tony cheered. "I love Wales! The mountains and the castles. And then you've got the sailing, shopping in Mermaid Quay, and the pubs in Cardiff. My uncle took me with him on a business trip there once. I was fascinated."

Ianto watched the agent's animated face, his large gestures. Childlike, maybe. But childish? Again, Agent Todd seemed to have hold of the wrong end of the stick. Within just a few sentences, Ianto was absolutely sure of a few things about NCIS Agent Tony DiNozzo. He loved life. He enjoyed people. He coveted experiences. And he was much smarter than he seemed. Just like Jack. He studied the two men, their grins, the openness of their expressions, their gestures, and the shadows and hidden depths behind their eyes.

Within the first few moments of their greeting, Tony had mentioned his uncle, Cardiff, Mermaid Quay, business, and how 'fascinating' he'd found his travels there. They had their answers. Agent DiNozzo knew about Torchwood.

"I hope you'll have the opportunity to visit us there," Ianto tried. "We'd love to show you around."

"A native tour! Well," Tony's smile was less wide, his features precisely amused, "I'll look forward to that. But, I'm afraid my boss is a demanding guy and it won't be anytime soon."

"Keeps you on a tight leash, does he?"

"Working for Gibbs, we need all of our wits about us." Tony's toothy smile seemed a bit feral. "If you get what I mean."

No Retcon. Jack nodded. "Of course. But, if you find you need – anything – I hope you'll call." He handed Tony a card. "Cases like this, they can be confusing. For some people."

Tony took the card and slid it into his back pocket. "Nah. Our team is pretty busy. Can't get bogged down on any one case. Especially when there's been no actual crime committed." The tone of his voice grew cold, his meaning precise. "And Gibbs hates interference from outside agencies. Talk about throwing out a red flag in front of a bull."

Jack and Tony laughed, but Ianto saw the exchange had gone much deeper.

"Great meeting you, Tony." Jack shook the agent's hand. "If you're ever looking for a change –"

"You've got to be kidding me! Your friend is offering Tony a job? Tony?"

Ianto rolled his eyes. Agent Todd couldn't seem to leave him alone. The woman had followed him across the bar and was standing, hands on hips, staring daggers at her partner. 

Tony caught Ianto's eye, an unspoken warning shining there before his outgoing exuberance took over.

"A job?" Tony laughed. "Oh Katie-Kate, when will you learn that there's a whole wide wonderful weird world out there beyond NCIS?"

Uh oh. Now Jack had that look in his eye. 

Jack smirked, giving Agent Todd an obvious once over, from head to toe and back again. "Sorry, dear. My partner and I," Jack hooked an arm around Ianto's waist, "were looking for a third. Made a bit of a wager out of it, actually. He bet you'd be willing, but once I got a look at this one," Jack's grin grew wicked, his gaze lingering on Tony's … attributes … "I knew I'd found a perfect third."

"A third? For what?" Todd's frown was nasty. "Keep-away? Handball? Monkey in the middle? You're right, Tony is just childish enough to enjoy that."

Ianto flung a hand across Jack's mouth just as the man was ready to launch into a detailed description of his experiences with both 'handball' and being in the 'middle'. "Unfortunately, Tony has turned us down and we must go away sad and bereft."

Tony laughed. A deep, belly laugh. "I doubt you two will be 'bereft' for long. Really. I'm flattered. But I also have a feeling that Ianto might just want you all to himself, Jack."

Jack's lips made a sucking sound against Ianto's hand before he managed to pull it away, face red. 

"No hard feelings," Jack joked, winking. "I think we'll just head back to our room and console each other." He tilted his head, lips pursed. "Keep in touch."

"I'll certainly think about it," Tony replied.

As they escaped into the thick, hot air, Ianto looked over his shoulder. "I feel bad."

"For Todd?"

"Good lord, no. That woman needs a little loosening up." He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "For Tony. Seems a good one."

"He does," Jack sighed. "But I'm pretty sure he's more than a match for Agent Todd. And, who knows?" He bumped into Ianto. "Maybe one day he'll get tired of pretending the world is boring and black and white, and give us a call."

A cloud of hot, moist, stinky air greeted Ianto when he opened the door of the SUV. "Maybe we should keep an eye on him."

"Ianto Jones!" Jack stared through the open doors of the car. "And I thought you only had eyes for me."

Ianto scoffed. "I only meant that, well, you know how Rift activity is. Once it's found an opening, that bit of time and space is weakened. Tony might find himself in the middle of another spooky-doo, as PC Andy calls it."

Jack hummed, considering. "Okay." He climbed into the SUV and turned on the engine. "We'll set up a schedule. And a direct link to his cell phone." He flicked a smile at Ianto. "We'll put Agent DiNozzo into the 'possible recruits' file. Sound good?"

Ianto sat gingerly on the hot seat. "What sounds good is air conditioning, a pint of proper lager, and a cool shower."

"And home?" Jack asked, hopefully.

Ianto settled his hand over Jack's on the gearshift. "Home. Yes, please."


End file.
